Firecrackers explode in the night
My feet are carried by the Ganga river
Feel the movement of the water tickling my toes
Lord Rama places the flower garland around my neck
Touch my auspicious feet with his hands; see through my soul
He offers puja for my mind and my soul in varmala
Namaste; he recognizes me no one else recognize me
Uptown I walk on the terrace of diyas lighten brightly
To the Mandir where his wife Sita dances, radiates delightedly outside
Telling the tale of how Lord Rama rescued her from Ravana
resilent, courageous, and determination
like the purified space inside the Mandir
No confusion, no stress, no loudness
Mandir is my womb where no words whisper inside my head
Silence…
Textures, flavour, odour, colours
stimulate my soul; enlighten my soul
Rangoli I bury my hands into colourful rices on the floor
Feel the rices clash
Smell the raw of rices
My hands create pictures, vibration, the dance in the air…
Lord Yama dresses me up in this flesh
Confinement, darkness…
Light-skinned Sita and the dark-skinned Durga pour sweet coconut milk on me
Bless me with Their love
Lord Kubera applies tilak on my forehead for wisdom
No Yamaraja see it, can’t pervert my Mandir.
I bow to them; Namaste
recognize the differences but I see your sameness too.
My third eye pierces through the darkness
My divinity cuts off the thorns, branches; make a path through the dense jungle
The darkness fuels my passion for change
I give a life, my soul raises from the Maya
…beyond the limitations
My death is my womb; my Mandir
Written by: Tamyka Bullen
November 2018